


Signal In The Noise

by IchijikuMonster



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (sort of), Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Communication is hard, Friendship, Gen, Goro Akechi's Phantom Thieves headcanons, M/M, Metaverse (Persona 5), Misunderstandings aplenty, Mutual Pining, Roleswap, Slow Burn, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchijikuMonster/pseuds/IchijikuMonster
Summary: He rattles off a list of offenses, the worst of Joker's crimes and then some. It's not a shock, really - he knew the other shoe was bound to drop eventually. He just didn't realize it would be here and now. Where is here and now, anyway? Where had he been before this room? Casino, treasure. Right, the Metaverse, the Phantom Thieves. But no memory from there to here. When was he cuffed? When was he transported? Short-term memory loss must be a side effect of whatever was in those needles littering the floor.He's pretty sure this isn't how the plan was supposed to go.Fostering a connection with a supposed enemy might be the only way out of this mess.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Phantom Thieves of Hearts & Phantom Thieves of Hearts
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48





	1. Convolution

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyzF_Xrb8XQ&ab_channel=GoGoPenguin-Topic). It's maybe only sort of thematically relevant, I just really like Gogo Penguin.
> 
> Special thanks to frockbot for being a very supportive sounding board as I blabbered about this idea!

### November 20, 20XX

Joker awakens to a splash of cold water, soaking his hair and clothes and knocking the breath out of him with the shock of it. He raises his head, slow and groggy, an attempt to regain his bearings. A dark, sparse room. Cuffs digging into his wrists, arms jammed behind a metal chair. His ribs ache. The camera in front of him nods once, up and down again.

His vision is fuzzy around the edges and his head is spinning like he's had too much to drink. Drugs, right? He heard something about drugs. Focus. There's an exit ahead and maybe if he could break these chains he could make a run for it and -

The interrogator is making eye contact with him now. Smug and satisfied at seeing Joker in this helpless state, like a hunter eyeing prey in a trap. No doubt this is one employed by the conspiracy. "You still don't get it, do you?" He has about half a second to register the fighting stance and the boot hurtling at full speed toward his shin. In the Metaverse, he could jump to the side and evade with ease. Here, he is tied down and compromised, but forces himself not to yell when the toe makes contact with bone and topples the chair, sending him hurtling to the ground on his side. "Give it up!"

Give what up? What did they want? Why is he here? Joker finds himself once again struggling to ground himself, to focus, to remember what came before this. He was in a casino? Something about a teammate? He feels a wave of guilt as that word passes through his mind.

A feeble cough escapes his chest and then the cop is making use of his boot again - stepping on Joker's head, testing the limits of the vertebrae in his neck. "Come on, cooperate. Or what, you want another shot?"

Honestly, he knew cops were assholes. But he had no idea that even corrupt ones like this could be so needlessly cruel. For all of the injustice he’s experienced so far in his young life, and there has certainly been no shortage, he thought at least the ones who dedicated their lives to upholding justice would at least try to uphold their own moral codes as long as it was convenient. Ah, well. Just another bit of naivety kicked out of him with the air in his lungs.

He sneaks another glance at the camera - had he really seen it move before? Or was that simply a trick of his drug-addled mind? The officer follows his stare. "Huh, what about the camera? Are you thinking it could be used as video evidence?" Of course he wasn't. He was simply attempting to confirm his own mental faculties. But now that the cop has mentioned it, he's even more certain that there was never any intention for Joker to make it out of here unscathed. He's being used, again, as a plaything. And a scapegoat, for those more powerful than him. Figures.

Well, nothing to do now but play along. "No, sir." He attempts a polite, pleasant, smile, but given the state of things he's certain it comes off more as a grimace.

"About time you showed some respect," the officer grumbles, stance gloating as he turns behind him to retrieve a clipboard.

He rattles off a list of offenses, the worst of Joker's crimes and then some. It's not a shock, really - he knew the other shoe was bound to drop eventually. He just didn't realize it would be here and now. Where is here and now, anyway? Where had he been before this room? Casino, treasure. Right, the Metaverse, the Phantom Thieves. But no memory from there to here. When was he cuffed? When was he transported? Short-term memory loss must be a side effect of whatever was in those needles littering the floor.

"And you seemed to be enjoying every second of it, huh?" That's where he's wrong. Sure, there's a certain rush to annihilating a shadow, or warmth and security of the power afforded by a gun - a sweet, righteous sort of sensation being the one in control for once. But there's a hollowness to it too. An emptiness in the gnawing suspicion that you're simply carrying out the whims of someone else, even when it's your decision to act.

The officer moves in close enough that Joker can smell the stench of his breath. He shoves the clipboard under Joker's chin and lowers it into his hands. The characters swim on the page as he glances down at the document. "Don't expect to walk out of here in one piece," the officer threatens in his most menacing tone. "We're going to make you understand. One must take full responsibility for their actions." _Laying it on a little thick_ , Joker thinks to himself. The hypocrisy is maddening, but then again he supposes he did have it coming.

He reaches out his left hand and accepts the pen. With all of the focus he can gather, he locates the signature line and writes the strokes of his name as neatly as he can through the tremor in his limbs. Doing his best to still the shaking, he lifts the clipboard to return it.

He watches as the officer's face contorts through confusion, and then anger. " _Goro Akechi?_ Do you think this is funny? Do you think I'm an idiot?" He whirls the clipboard around and smacks Joker in the face with considerable force.

Wait, but that's his name, isn't it? Goro Akechi? Of course it is. He has no idea how he got here, but he knows that's his identity. Goro Akechi, Crow, Black Mask, the second coming of the Detective Prince, orphaned bastard son of Masayoshi Shido. He's here because of his crimes, isn't he? All of the ones the interrogator listed - manslaughter, possession of weapons, obstruction of justice, blackmail. Murders, carried out on his father's orders in an attempt to push him toward the edge of ruin. Planned assassination of -

Focus. There are a few options here. He could protest, but the officer clearly isn't planning to cooperate. He opts for as charming and pleasant a mask as he can shape with his consciousness softened by the drugs. "My apologies, sir." He attempts a demure tilt of his head. "My mind is a bit fuzzy at the moment, but I'll try again." He extends his hand for the clipboard only to feel a gripping tug at his hair. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

"Don't you dare blame that little stunt on me. Do it right this time. You won't get a third chance."

Goro stares down at the paper, at his name crossed through. The officer is staring, impatiently tapping the same toe that kicked him in the shin earlier. He needs to act quickly. Heart pounding in his ears, he writes the only name that comes to mind: Ren Amamiya.

The cop grabs the clipboard the second he lifts his pen, eyes the signature with a _hmph_ and wordlessly strolls out of the room, slamming the door on his way out. He's gotten what he wanted and Goro is left alone.

The last thing he remembers before his consciousness fades once more is the glimmer of blue wings and a silky feminine voice, which says, cryptically, _Trickster: you are not yet alone. Remember the bond you have formed with the one who shares your power._

* * *

### Late August, 20XX

The Metaverse is full of dark corners and mechanisms that are not well understood, and for good reason. The cognitive realm comes from the minds of humans, after all, and although Morgana wants nothing more than to be human - feels deep in his lithe, feline bones that his true place is among society - even he has to admit that humans make no sense sometimes. He doesn’t understand how someone’s mind and heart can get so twisted and knotted as to turn a pure, fledgling dream into something cruel and harmful. The truth in Morgana’s eyes is simple: follow your heart, do what’s right, trust in your friends, and everything will work out in the end.

Futaba is the latest example of a good person who just needed a little help to get back on track. In every palace infiltration, Morgana’s absolute favorite part is when the treasure appears, and at the time Futaba’s palace was no exception. He _beamed_ with pride when she listened to that little voice inside of her that knew the truth all along and Necronomicon burst out of her, only to swallow her up and project her power all over the battlefield like a disco ball. It was cool and exciting to awaken someone like that, and satisfying to know that without his help it never would have happened.

Then it got annoying. Sure, in the Metaverse, Futaba is great at harnessing her skills. It only involves knowing herself! Futaba has spent a lot of time with herself.

All of a sudden, she’s taking over as Navigator just because she has access to cool technology. Which is true, but the rest of the team didn’t even pause to consider how he would feel about it. Navigating was _his_ contribution to the team, not to mention that Futaba needs a _lot_ of help with her people skills. Morgana acts way more like a human than Futaba does. Heck, Morgana acts more like a human than Ryuji does most of the time. But neither of them get their faces grabbed and pinched, while the rest of the group makes cooing sounds like they’re talking to a baby. It’s not fair.

Next on Morgana’s list of wrench-throwers is Jose. Up until the Thieves ran into Jose, Morgana’s certainty about his knowledge of the cognitive world had been pretty steady. A little up here, a little down there, the occasional hiccup or surprise. But for the most part he knew what was going on. And _then_ Jose showed up with a “wishing star” and asked them to collect weird yellow flowers in Mementos (when had those shown up?) and his grubby little hands reached out for every Will Seed they found and _transformed_ them without anyone asking. It called everything Morgana knew into question. Who was this kid? What was his objective? And why did he seem to know things Morgana didn’t?

The wishing star in particular turned out to be a handy little object for them; it even allowed Morgana one of the highlights of his memory so far. That part was fun. He figured out how to use the star before the rest of the group did, and so he got to show the concept off and give Lady Ann flowers at the same time. For a short time, he was special again.

But then, Ryuji figured out how to initiate a scene of his own. That wasn’t so bad, but it stung a little because Morgana had been pretty sure it was a special ability of his. Then, Yusuke figured it out. And his artist’s spirit ran wild. So wild, in fact, that he had the nerve to approach Lady Ann about joining him for one. Morgana was certain that she’d say “No way!” and laugh in his face while she twirled one of her twintails. Surely she hadn’t forgotten how he had wanted her to pose, _naked_ , for his painting! But to Morgana’s horror, she agreed with enthusiasm, and suddenly he was back to being ordinary. No longer the only one who knew how to navigate, no longer the only one with the ability to do a showtime attack, and no longer the only one who had a scene with Ann.

The more the Thieves focused their efforts on Futaba’s mission to become more comfortable around people, the worse Morgana felt. It had been one thing when she first emerged from her bedroom cave, unable to carry on a conversation without her weird scary mask. The group was in agreement then, he thought: she was kind of annoying, definitely needed help, but she had a lot of potential to offer the team so it was a worthy trade-off.

She was smart and capable, though, and she learned quickly. She and the rest of the Thieves found things to bond over, like cartoons and making fun of Ryuji, more than they ever seemed to have in common with Morgana. And suddenly, no one seemed to mind her at all. It was like she’d been a part of the group all along. She had her own cell phone, so she was added to the group chat, she continued to treat Morgana like a cat, and everyone was glad.

He knew he was kind of acting like a jerk. He knew he should feel proud of her for doing so well, like he had the day they took down her palace. But any little bit he could conjure was matched double by how much it hurt for the rest of the group to support and praise her instead of him. The jealousy and injustice festered; she was taking his place, and no one seemed to mind.

“What about me?” he found himself whining, only for Ryuji to poke and prod and make him bristle. _He wouldn’t be doing this if I looked like a human_ , Morgana thought. _They’d care more if I looked like a human._

Eventually he started thinking, _Maybe I don’t belong here after all._

\---

Today, Morgana is hanging out with Futaba, Ren, Yusuke, and Ann in Ren’s bedroom, crowded around the ancient television and game console that he and Ren had gone together to buy from the second-hand shop. Everyone with opposable thumbs is engaged in a heated 2-on-2 match of Punch Ouch.

Ren and Ann secure their third victory, and Futaba finally loses patience with Yusuke’s “impeccably formed” friendly fire attack.

She slams the controller on her knees and groans. “Ugh, I’ve had enough of you, Inari. Get away from me, you filthy casual.”

“Here they go, again…” Ann smiles, whispers to Ren conspiratorially.

Yusuke narrows his eyes in defense. His baritone reverberates across the attic. “I beg your pardon. There is nothing casual about my dedication to art, and what is a game but a method of performance? I was quite inspired in my portrayal of a disgruntled boxer. Clearly you do not understand the nuance of fine acting.”

“Shut it, noob! Acting isn’t the point. We _lost. Look._ ” She waves the controller at the TV, where hers and Yusuke’s characters lie facedown in the ring and Ren’s and Ann’s alternately cheer and flex.

“You refer to the culmination of the narrative. The protagonist was suffering from a bout of ennui, thus he decided to attack his teammate and this act, through tragic irony, ultimately led to his destruction,” Yusuke says, with pride.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she says fondly, setting down her controller and standing, still having to reach a bit to knock Yusuke on the forehead like a door. “Sometimes I wish I could hack into your messed-up brain and see what goes on in there.”

A faint high-pitched whine hits Morgana’s ears, and they flick back and forth without his permission. “Hey, Mona’s picking up a signal!” Futaba ruffles the fur on the top of his head and giggles with glee.

“I am not a radio!” he yells back, indignant. By this point, the whine has become loud enough that everyone can hear it, and Ren reaches for the source.

“You suuuure? I guess cat ears are just more sensitive than human ones then.” She scritches under his chin. He jerks away.

“I’m not a cat either,” he grumbles.

“If you say so,” she replies, sing-song and dismissive, folds her hands behind her back and turns on her heel to face Ren, who holds the glowing wishing star so everyone can see it.

“Whoa,” Ann whispers, leaning forward onto her elbows, eyes wide with wonder. “What do you think it’s offering now?”

“I hope it’s cake. I’m feeling cake,” Ren says.

“OOOOH I could _totally_ go for cake!” Ann sits up straight, slapping her palms to her knees. Morgana makes a mental note to buy her cake as soon as humanly possible.

Yusuke places his index finger on his temple, pensive. “I believe Futaba had expressed a desire to infiltrate my mind. I would be amenable to such an endeavor. Perhaps it would be a boon to my creative vision to view my own perspective through the eyes of another.”

As if to agree, the glow of the wishing star intensifies to an impossible ultramarine. “Guess we should try it out in the Metaverse then!” Futaba chirps.

“Everyone in agreement?” Ren looks around the room as everyone nods their affirmation, pausing for a second when he lands on Morgana’s despondent expression. His eyebrows furrow in a silent question, _You okay?_

Morgana flicks his tail back and forth: _It’s nothing._ Ren looks unconvinced.

“Come on, everyone.” Morgana strolls down the stairs and noses out of the cafe on his own, toward Yongen-jaya station.

\---

The five of them sit in a circle at the entrance to Mementos as Futaba and Yusuke face each other, cross-legged.

“I wonder how this works…” Ann wonders aloud. “Maybe it’s a little like a showtime?”

“One way to find out,” Futaba replies as she closes her eyes and grasps the wishing star. “Inari, think of something weird.”

“Something weird? In my opinion, nothing within the conceivable range of the human mind is so odd as to qualify as ‘weird.’ I will simply imagine a world made entirely of lobsters, as I do when sleep eludes me.” He slowly closes his eyes as well.

“Sounds weird enough to me,” Morgana whispers, and feels a wave of warmth suffuse his fur when he hears Ren’s low chuckle beside him.

“Holy shit! I can _see_ it!” Futaba exclaims, eyes still shut tight. “Whoa! He wasn’t kidding when he said the world was all lobsters! It’s not just a world for lobsters, literally everything is a lobster. The furniture, the buildings, the ground - all lobsters. Inari, the sky is made of lobsters! The clouds are somehow lobsters too!”

“Certainly, it’s rather intriguing, is it not?” Yusuke asks serenely. “I hope to one day capture its essence on the canvas.”

“Actually, weirdly yeah. I can’t explain it, but I’m not just getting the image - I’m actually getting how Inari feels about this. It’s _fascinating_.”

“The world of lobsters, or the phenomenon of feeling Yusuke’s feelings?” Ren clarifies.

“Both?”

“Can I try?” Ann leans forward. “Futaba, would you share something with me?” She tilts her head, charming, in the same way she does when she asks whether she can have your last french fry with her hand already moving toward the plate.

“Uh… okay. You got it, uh, friendo.”

The circle reconfigures, so that Futaba and Ann are facing each other at the center.

Futaba hugs her knees and settles her chin between them. “So… you’ve seen in my heart already, so you know things can get a little PRFR episode 34 in there. I’m gonna try to keep it in episode 19 territory, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Uhhh, sure!” Ann nods, feigns comprehension. “That’s alright. I just wanna understand you a little better!”

“O-okay! Here we gooo.” She settles back into a cross-legged position and closes her eyes once more, concentration evident in her features.

Ann mirrors her position. “Wait, I can’t see anything, it’s totally dark! But I can hear people all around! And it’s warm?”

Morgana watches Ann’s lacquered nails dig crescents into the skin of her knees.

“Oh SHIT, this is scary! My heart is pounding, but it’s also kinda exciting? And… wait, someone’s touching my shoulders. Is that Makoto’s voice? Oh! OH! I can see now! We’re at the beach!!”

Futaba’s lips draw into a small, sweet smile that echoes across Ann’s features.

“Awww, Ren, you’re so comforting to her! WOW, check me out, I look cute!!”

“Aaaand that’s enough!” Futaba’s eyes fly open. She’s gone beet red, but looks satisfied too. Ren fixes her with a fond, proud, big-brother stare. Morgana leans forward and just as he works up the confidence to say, _Lady Ann, share something with me!_ she takes Futaba’s hand in hers.

“Thank you,” she says reverently, staring straight into Futaba’s eyes with her perfect blue ones. “That took a ton of courage, opening up to me like that. Futaba, you’re _amazing_. Really.”

“Aw, shucks,” Futaba says, bowing her head to study a spot on the floor. Her blush somehow deepens, and Morgana’s tail swishes back and forth.

\--- 

Ren, Futaba, and Sojiro go out to eat sushi and the final straw is placed. It’s already a little hurtful that he is the only member of the household who isn’t allowed to join, but Ren _promises_ to bring some back for him. And then, when he shows up empty-handed, he just shrugs and mutters a halfhearted apology, makes some stupid joke. It’s not about the sushi. … Okay, it’s a little about the sushi. Anyway, the damage has been done.

Any attempt Ren makes after that is too little too late. He disappears to Hawaii for a week, and when he returns the team doesn’t seem to agree on anything anymore. The right thing to do is so obvious to Morgana. Okumura has a palace, and weird stuff is happening there! How is this any different from any of their other missions? Why are they suddenly so unwilling to help? Who else is going to do it? Why won’t they listen to him? 

_Because they don’t think you’re human_ , the little voice in his mind answers. _They don’t think you can do it alone._

There’s no choice but to take matters into his own hands. He strides out the door, tail ramrod-straight and haughty, and lets his instinctual sense of direction lead him into the palace. It’s not until he’s flat on his belly surrounded on all sides by robotic shadows that he realizes he might have made a mistake.

In that moment, he thinks he understands humans a little better. Sometimes, humans follow their hearts and think they’re doing the right thing, but end up alone, in over their heads despite their best efforts. All you can do then is try your best to survive, to make sure all of that effort is worth it, mistakes and all, and hope someone kind eventually shows up to pull you out and help you back to land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further evidence of my brainrot can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/IchijikuMonster). Come say hi!


	2. Undersampling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hero's journey begins

### November 20, 20XX

Goro turns his eyes upward as Sae Nijima takes a seat at the table across from him. She crosses her arms and fixes him with a cold stare. He's not accustomed to being in direct opposition to her. Even when he was lying and cheating his way through the SIU, she was still a colleague - someone to argue and conflict with, occasionally mislead, but ultimately with the same interests in mind.

By now he's come to understand, though he's not sure how, that as far as everyone else is concerned he is Ren Amamiya, the leader of the Phantom Thieves. He’s certainly dressed the part; when he looks down, he sees red buttons on a black jacket and unflattering plaid pants. Regardless, the core of the matter is that being contrary will get him nowhere, and he's left with a familiar game: use your cunning to play along, adapt and charm, and wait for the opportunity to seize power and intel.

Her gaze softens - she actually seems surprised to see him. For a fraction of a second, Goro thinks that maybe she really _is_ seeing him, that perhaps she'd recognized the way he folded his hands or the determined look in his eyes that she'd seen nearly every day for the better part of a year. But then she slips into interrogation mode and the moment is gone. She at least has the decency to act appalled at the less than upstanding methods the cops had used to coerce his signature earlier, but she's not green enough to be shocked.

She's employing her own form of manipulation, Goro knows. A sympathetic act designed to pull information directly from the perpetrator, wielding kindness and sentiment like a fishing lure. And then, the tug. Straight to the point, asking the question that had been plaguing the SIU for months. The Phantom Thieves' methods? Their motives? Tell me what they were so that I can close this case and forget about you, leave you to the dogs.

Goro won't bite right away. "What do I gain from telling you that? Certainly not protection from more abuse." Suddenly he’s aware that this is the first he’s spoken since arriving at the station. His voice feels deeper, rough, and _wrong_. Some of that could be explained by the abuse sustained to his larynx during the “confession.” But Goro can’t quite make the pieces of that hypothesis add up in his mind.

Sae’s eyes widen slightly, her expression softens, then hardens again. "Hmm, disappointing. I expected a little more tact from you. Look, I want to help. But I can't do that unless you tell me honestly what you know. How did you find out about that 'world'? How is it even possible to steal another's heart? Tell me everything, starting at the beginning."

Goro considers his respect for Nijima, stares her down for a moment. "Fine, I suppose my options are limited." In some ways they were similar - analytical, both driven to rise in a system stacked against them. Perhaps, like in their casework, her perspective could prove useful as a sounding board, when offered a select retelling of what Goro knew of Amamiya's experience in Tokyo. And maybe in the meantime he'll figure out what the hell is going on and how to fix it.

Now, Amamiya in Tokyo. Gather the information. A wave of dizziness washes across his mind and he grabs his head, surprised to feel rough, frizzy locks under the pads of his fingers. Was he in...? No, that’s preposterous. That's the drugs again, certainly. But he looks down at his bare hands and sees that they are missing the pair of moles that usually dot his left index finger, and the manicured nails that he works so hard to maintain show evidence of chewing and picking. 

First there’s panic… _how the fuck did I end up here_? And it only grows as the thought crosses his mind that it was this body, _Amamiya's body_ , that he had spent months trying to scrub from his consciousness entirely. Desperate to forget meetings in the Leblanc attic hovering over the back of a chair and catching a whiff of coffee and something slightly floral, these very fingers delicately placing glasses on his face and running over his scalp leaving his cheeks burning, the soft, steamy light of the bathhouse catching on these bare hips and--

"Hey! Are you with me?" Sae snaps her fingers in his face. Focus. Pull it together.

Amamiya's life in Tokyo. His sad excuse for a bedroom, cluttered with trinkets. Successful heist after successful heist as the leader of the Phantom Thieves. His commitment to forming friendships with half the city, including those he might avoid if he had a bit more sense. His skill. His charm. If Goro closes his eyes, he can almost imagine playing the part of the hero, rising out of a false charge set upon him by a cruel and unjust society to thrive and change the world.

\---

#### April, 20XX

It was a chilly, overcast day when Ren arrived in Tokyo. 

He wasn’t accustomed to the bustle of the city or navigating large crowds of commuters, but Ren was a master of adaptation. He donned the anonymity of a crowd like a shadowy cloak, deftly hiding his striking, delicate features in plain sight behind a set of thick frames. 

It mattered little that he’d never set foot in the city before. Ren knew where he was going and executed his journey proficiently, without fanfare. He paused at Shibuya crossing and the crowd seemed to slow for a moment as Ren sensed the power available to him where he stood. Being here in Tokyo was his fate and he was ready for the challenge.

His arrival instructions lead him to a destination called ‘Cafe Leblanc,’ in the Yongen-jaya neighborhood, where he was to meet his guardian. He headed straight there, breaking only to stoop and pet a neighborhood cat or two. They leaned into his touch and meowed in gratitude for the attention. He resolved to purchase a bag of salmon treats to carry around in his pocket.

The door to Leblanc chimed a warm welcome, and if the man behind the counter was wary, his apprehension was set in loose clay rather than concrete. Ren wasn’t concerned anyway. Who could resist his unassuming charm, after all? The man set down the dish he was drying and strolled out from behind the counter, a small smile quirking his lips as he stroked his goatee.

“Nice to meet you, kid. I’m Sojiro Sakura. I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here.” Sakura leaned forward in a small bow.

“Thank you so much, Sakura-san. I’m endlessly grateful for your hospitality.” Ren returned the bow, folding deeply, his hands rigid and humble at his sides.

“No need for formalities,” Sakura said with a chuckle. “I know you’re not a bad kid, you just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’ll do just fine here. Feel free to make yourself at home, use the stove, the phone, anything. I can even show you how to use the coffee maker, if you’d like…?”

“I’d love to learn, thank you.” Ren smiled warmly at his new guardian and felt at home already.

“Oh right, we should get you settled upstairs first. Can I take your bag?” Sakura offered a hand.

“No, but thanks for the offer. I should be able to get it.”

“Heh, look at you, looking out for this old man’s back.”

They climbed the creaky flight up to the attic. Cobwebs had gathered in the corners of the walls, dust swam in the air, and clutter barely left a path to the futon which rested uncomfortably on a pile of milk crates, but Ren was grateful anyway. 

“Wow, it’s so big,” he whispered, awed.

“Jeez, sorry about all this. I meant to clean before you arrived but just lost track of time. Let me at least help you with the worst of it.” Sojiro leaned behind one of the industrial shelves to retrieve a feather duster and immediately got to work removing layers of dust and webs. “I might rely on you to get these heavy bags up onto the shelf, though, you’re young enough to handle it.”

“Roger that.” Ren gave a cheeky salute, and Sojiro chuckled, warm and comfortable.

They worked together for an hour or so, and by the time they finished, Ren couldn’t imagine the room looking any more like a home. There was a small desk in the corner where he could envision crafting all kinds of items, a television with a gaming console - ancient but functional, ready for visits from the horde of friends he would no doubt meet in a few short days, a plant lovingly cared for with a large stash of expensive, premium fertilizer. Plenty of space for Ren to settle in and build a life for himself.

“Welcome, kid. I hope this is a good year for ya. Better call it a night, we’re going to visit your school tomorrow. It’ll be early, but I’ll make ya some coffee.” He began to make his way for the exit.

“Thank you, truly. I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Sakura-san.” Ren smiled his adorable, crooked smile.

“Please, call me Sojiro.” Sojiro nodded a wave and disappeared down the stairs, the door chiming fondly as he left the shop. He flipped the sign to “Closed” on his way out.

\---

After brushing his teeth and changing into his pajamas, a wide-necked black tee that showed off his collarbones paired elegantly with cozy green lounge pants that flattered his frame, Ren typed a quick message to his parents back in his hometown. Just wanted to let you know I made it to my room. It’s nice!

He’d barely hit the send button when the phone began buzzing, his mom’s eager face on the caller ID.

_Ren, honey? You made it alright? How was the trip?_

Ren settled on his bed, propping up his pillow to lean back with his phone to his ear. “Not bad at all. Little bit of subway traffic, but otherwise really smooth.”

_Oh, I’m glad to hear it. Wait, one second, your father wants to say hello._

_Hey, champ. You shown the big city who’s boss yet?_ Ren could hear his dad’s crooked smirk and good humor clearly through the line.

“Hey, dad. You know I’ve only been here like six hours, right?”

_Yeah, that’s plenty of time. They should be eating out of the palm of your hand by now if they know what’s good for ‘em._

“Heh, I’ll see what I can do. There are some cats here that may be up to the challenge.”

_‘Atta boy. Knock ‘em dead. Okay, okay, your mom wants the phone again._

“‘Kay. Bye, dad.”

_Ren? Oh good, you’re still there. I just wanted to remind you that we love you no matter what, okay? I know it was a tough choice to go to Tokyo, but I really do think it will be a good experience for you. Like an adventure! And we’re only a phone call away._

“I know, mom. I love you, too.”

_We’ll let you get some sleep, then. Take care, love._

“Thanks, you too. Bye.”

Ren sighed as he hung up the phone. Yes, this was a challenge, certainly. But it was really going quite well so far. Things tended to work out for Ren. A wrongful assault charge and probation wouldn’t change that. Ren Amamiya was the hero, and the world made way for the hero. He sunk back into his pillow and felt that sleep wasn’t far out of reach.

His eyelids began to feel heavy, and as he sunk under a flash of blue (wait, blue?) dissolved into his vision. The clank of prison chains (what?) and three voices: one silky, one harsh, and one deep and booming.

\---

Akechi shakes his head, massages his temples. He’d probably taken a few liberties with what he’d imagined Ren’s life had been like, but there was no point in conjuring a dream sequence to accompany his story. What a strange image to pop into his head. Perhaps the drugs were still having an effect on him.

\---

Goro is no stranger to hearing voices in his head. Once a bond has been forged, personas have a tendency to communicate with their hosts, some more than others. Robin Hood, in particular, is chatty. Whatever the decision, from the inconsequential “what shall I buy from the vending machine?” to the higher-stakes “how much should I torture this shadow before dispatching it?” Robin has an opinion. He always weighs the pros and cons, to the point that Goro can practically visualize his glowing blue form holding a yellow legal pad with a line drawn down the center. 

Loki, on the other hand, tends to communicate in a more raw, animal manner. Goro knows Loki is involved when he feels his organs forcibly twist and constrict in fear or rage or bloodlust. Sometimes Loki chuckles in the back of his mind when a psychotic episode plays through the dim light of the television set. Sometimes he stays perfectly silent, but Goro knows he is watching, hands clasped around Laevateinn’s hilt, smiling his eternal red smile.

Persona communication always comes from a certain part of Goro’s brain. It’s not like he ever consciously thinks about where that part is, but he recognizes it the same way he’s able to recognize a song from his childhood or a memory from last year. The persona region rests somewhere in the back left in the expanse of Goro’s consciousness, several paces behind him. He’s become practiced at ignoring them, partially out of fear of marring his impeccable “Detective Prince'' facade, but mostly because he’s afraid of what it says about his character. A lonely boy who talks to characters in his own mind is insane. A lonely boy who ignores them is just a normal, lonely boy.

As he finishes telling Sae of Ren’s first day in Tokyo, a laugh sounds from behind his left ear, clear and deep and resonant. It belongs to neither Robin nor Loki. It almost sounds like Joker, but Goro dismisses that thought simply because it’s too much of a coincidence. Ren is at the forefront of his mind, of course, given the circumstances.

 ** _“A few liberties,” huh?_** says the voice that truly does sound uncannily like Ren.

Goro makes the snap decision to break his rule. The situation calls for it, after all; this is too significant of a clue to let pass.

 _Whatever do you mean?_ Goro replies in his mind.

_**Nothing, I guess. You’re just making a lot of assumptions in your story.** _

_How would I possibly know what to say otherwise?_

_**Try to listen, maybe. A good rival takes his opponent at his word.** _

_Hold on, rival? Are you..._

Goro can feel its presence slip away like a spooked shadow into the ether of his mind. He scrabbles for it, but no matter how he bends and reaches it’s out of his grasp. Still, its mark is made. And even beyond its potential utility, he’s compelled to learn more.

  


* * *

  


### September, 20XX

Sometimes it’s lonely being the leader. Ren’s thankful that his friends trust him enough to follow, though he isn’t sure why they do most of the time. He leans into it anyway, summoning the side of him that specializes in cocky showmanship to play the part. It’s fun, usually. It also comes with a duty to be the solid, unshakeable foundation of the team when things get tough.

In the Metaverse, there are also obvious differences that set him apart; words like “trickster” and “wildcard” come to mind, all of the special Velvet Room powers he’s collected along the way. Then there’s the subtler stuff, the real-world quirks of his mind that he suspects give rise to all of those differences in the cognitive world, or at least make him impressionable to whoever wants to throw them upon him.

Ren used to think he was a magnet for people’s problems. It just always seemed to happen that way, that he stumbled upon friends and acquaintances and strangers alike during their low points. Now he thinks it’s just because he has a low threshold for what’s worth his attention. He understands why others are more selective, now that he knows what it’s like to wade into conflict and be swept away by rip current. It seems to be common knowledge; almost everyone tells him that the sensible thing is to mind his own business.

It’s not like he’s never doubted his actions that night. Ren’s not so arrogant as to just ignore the way his parents’ anger melted into sinking disappointment when they picked him up from the police station; the way they’d apologized to the guard after seeing the terrified shock in his eyes, the way they’d sat silent, eyes fixed straight ahead, as he offered his feeble explanation, _I was only trying to help_ , from the back seat of the car. Or their complacency when his trial (can it even be called a trial when it’s barely a two-minute affair; when the judge doesn’t even look up from his bench, wordlessly hands you a stack of papers, and waves you away?) confirmed his criminal record and cemented the entire town’s shame and disgust. 

Still, there’s something in Ren that refuses to lie down even when logically it’s a bad idea to get involved. It’s probably the part that wonders what would have happened to that woman in the alley if he hadn’t ignored them that night. It’s probably also the part that wonders whether he is capable of being anything at all except a shadow cast by the lives of the people around him. 

It’s probably not unrelated to the thrill that pulses through the grip of his knife when he senses fear in the sickly yellow eyes of someone who has hurt someone he loves.

Joker is the wielder of seemingly infinite masks. Ren is subtler, but similar. For all of the solid, steel core of his resolve, his face is liquid chrome, taking shape through the perspectives of others and reflecting their qualities back at them. Ren likes relating to other people - sidelining his own thoughts in favor of absorbing his friends’, tracing the shapes and colors of their souls in order to understand and mold his own. 

\---

After Hawaii, the Thieves spend an entire day in the Metaverse just playing with the wishing star’s mind sharing ability. They go around the circle, one by one, and project thoughts and memories and ideas into the atmosphere. It’s exhilarating, seeing what his friends share. Tangible, vivid manifestations of their minds. 

Yusuke is first. Futaba insists that everyone must experience his lobster world first-hand - it is a _trip_ , she says - and Yusuke insists that his current work in progress is not yet ready for the human eye, even the mind’s eye, therefore is happy to stick to lobsters. _They do have a certain allure_ , he hears echo in his mind in Goemon’s voice.

Then Ryuji shares a memory of a particularly satisfying run, feet pounding a steady rhythm into the pavement, headwind cool, heart pounding, and leaving everyone with the sensation of an endorphin high. Futaba thinks the post-run glow feels like hacking into a major corporation’s database and digging up dirt, so she shares that next. The technical intricacies of her methods are too quick to follow, but the clear, organized sensation of a well-implemented plan and the satisfaction of success come through; like a jammed key finally aligning and turning a lock.

Makoto is up next, on her motorcycle, racing along an oceanside highway with all of the force she shows on the battlefield. Johanna loves the call of the open road too much to mind the faux horror from the rest of the group at how thoroughly she annihilated the speed limit. Morgana radiates pure, unparalleled joy at the memory of his first ever piece of fatty tuna at the Wilton Buffet. 

Ann hesitates - she doesn’t want to be too much of a downer - but ends up sharing her latest visit with Shiho. The warm glow of affection, the pride seeing her climb the mountain in front of her. Ren feels embers smolder in his chest, the drive to channel that strength into something strong and beautiful himself.

There’s magic about their little group sitting together, watching each other’s minds as simply as watching a movie on a screen. They were already close, of course, privy to manifestations of each other’s souls in battle and forging their bonds through long days of infiltration. But there’s an extra dimension added sitting in the passenger seat of someone’s mind.

Ren is last. He squeezes the glowing star until his knuckles are white and dips into his consciousness to locate that world between dream and reality, with its effervescent blue light, echoing aria, the soft drip of water, the rattle of prison chains, the curve of Igor’s nose and the way his voice rattles in the pit of Ren’s stomach. He’s eager for the opportunity to share. Maybe if his friends understood where his power came from, maybe if they could see it for themselves, he wouldn’t feel so... separate. But the image sifts like sand through the fingers of his consciousness. 

He almost has it, briefly. It’s blurry and incorporeal, a dissonant, detuned whine and a vague hint of blue, present but out of reach, like a dream upon waking. His friends look confused, and maybe even a little concerned; the disappointment must show on his face. He snuffs it out.

“Ya know, no one gets _everything_ right on their first try,” Futaba needles, slapping him on the back, not-so-secretly a little giddy to see Ren actually struggle with something Metaverse-related.

“Yeah man! Remember the first time you tried the Big Bang Burger challenge? You barfed all over your shirt in the alley, it was gross,” Ryuji adds helpfully. “But now you can put that whole thing away, no problem.”

“I _think_ what Ryuji is _trying_ to say,” Makoto says, wrinkling her nose, “is that repetition and persistence are the keys to success. We believe in you, Ren.”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and warm pats on the back, and encouraging faces. Of course, it will be fine. They’ll try again later. 

Morgana is silent. Ren catches his giant mascot eyes and he looks haunted, like he’s seen a ghost.

\---

There’s a downside, of course, to being a reflection. A brick wall held to a mirror is a brick wall. And if someone is determined to push Ren away, to refuse to offer anything for him to reflect back at them, then there’s only so much he can do. 

Morgana has erected a wall. It’s happened gradually. Before Ren left for Hawaii, he had been all heavy sighs and limp tail. Ren had arrogantly assumed that it was because Morgana was anxious about spending a week apart. He’d tried to reassure him that he’d be back in no time. He should have noticed that it was something deeper.

And then, the Thieves had their first real disagreement and he just ran off. Ren is used to Morgana’s big-talking moxy, his hot head. He figures he’ll stroll around the block, con his way into a treat from the lady down the block, cool off, and be back for his evening tuna. Later, he thinks he should have tried harder to stop him.

That night is Ren’s loneliest since his arrest. He falls into bed too late feeling too cold and too light, without the warm weight of Morgana curled on his chest. He wishes he could have projected the comfort he felt with his furry companion by his side, to swallow up Morgana’s insecurities and fears.

\---

It takes hours of tracking, and evading, and catching, and escaping, and cornering, and cheap tricks, and escaping again, and by the end everyone is nursing a cocktail of frustration and exhaustion and annoyance. 

“Freakin’ Morgana,” Ryuji whines. Part of Ren wants to snap at him for pushing Morgana away in the first place, but Ann seems to have it covered and it wouldn’t help anyway.

He wonders why Morgana is so stubbornly committed to this fight, why he doesn’t seem to realize that they’re following him all over the city because they care about him - not because they think he isn’t capable. Is it really such a blow to his pride to let them in?

He supposes he’s not at liberty to throw stones there, seeing as he’d do just about anything to avoid discussing his own insecurities.

Or maybe Morgana simply doesn’t trust them anymore - he’s found his new alliance, and just like he says, he’s ready to leave the rest of them behind. He doesn’t think that’s the case, but the thought sticks in Ren’s heart like a poison arrow.

Tapping the button to return from the Metaverse feels like a concession, and Ren is dreading another night alone. He’s half-considering asking Ryuji to stay at Leblanc with him. ...Maybe Yusuke - Ryuji seems to be unable to stop talking shit about Morgana today and would probably spend the night doing the same. But he decides the idea is too needy and pathetic and shoves it back into his subconscious.

It’s almost a relief to hear the desperate cry for help coming from the alley even though Ren gets a little wave of guilt for feeling that way. And he feels even worse when he sees the all too familiar scene playing out between Haru and the jerk ignoring her cries to back off. And worse still at the sight of the furry lump lying motionless on the side. 

Maybe in the Metaverse, Joker would know what to say and do and have the courage to say and do it. For Ren it’s all too much. His senses are dulled by a drone of white noise. He sticks his hands in his pockets, keeps his head down, and stays completely still and silent as his friends take the fight. 

It all works out, for the most part. Haru is shaken, but fine. Morgana is bruised, both ego and body, but fine. Haru agrees to join forces against her father and the creep he sold her to. Morgana finally admits, in so many words, to his fear of losing his place in the team and they welcome him back with open arms, of course. And Ren is happy with this outcome, truly. He’s relieved to have his friend back home, and safe, and speaking to him again.

But he also wonders if this is the way it had to play out or whether there was anything he could have done to intervene earlier and save them the trouble.

Morgana seems unbothered, at least. He’s joking about teaching Ren new crafting skills and acting like he never left. It seems like the time has passed for a heartfelt expression of how lonely he’d been without Morgana there, so he marks the conflict resolved in his mind. 

\---

Later that night, Ren’s attention is free to return to another puzzle in front of him, built from games of skill and metaphor, and plausibly-deniable dates, and the promise of rivalry. 

Ren doesn’t like to play favorites with his confidants. But it would be wrong to deny that there’s one with an exceptional pull: the one who, when Ren reflects, reflects back. When he looks straight into sharp, garnet eyes, he gets the eerie sensation that he’s looking at himself. In those times, he feels exhilarated, exposed and seen for all that he is.

At the same time he gets the sense that, like Morgana, Akechi’s pride precludes him from fully submitting to the connection he craves. He works so hard to be seen as polished and thriving, as hard as Ren works to be invisible and nonchalant. There’s no doubt that he’s hiding something; Ren has a few hypotheses, but doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. 

Beyond that, in rare instances when Akechi looks at him from a certain angle Ren gets a glimpse of someone as lonely and lost as he is. He wonders if Akechi is aware that he notices and cares, and that he feels that way too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Goro, we're really in it now. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading so far, I will never get bored discussing these characters so feel free to drop a comment and/or kudos and/or come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/IchijikuMonster).


	3. Frequency Modulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom Thieves make their debut
> 
> \---
> 
> Ann and Haru have a chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: canon typical sexual harassment + abuse

### November 20, 20XX

As Goro expected, Sae seems committed to mapping the timeline of the Phantom Thieves’ escapades in detail. She’s been particularly interested in Ren’s first few days at Shujin, which is understandable given the need to determine a motive for the Thieves’ crimes. 

She’s relentless, question after question in rapid fire leaving no room for escape. Brute force must run in the Nijima family, considering how much it reminds him of the younger Nijima’s battle style. Until this moment Akechi had not truly appreciated the effectiveness of this method. From the outside, at eye level, her strategy always seemed crude and tactless to him. But here he is a subordinate, held down and forced to look up to her. From this vantage, with no room to breathe, he can better appreciate the impact.

He’s kept his ear trained for that voice, not that he has much freedom to focus on anything other than the here and now. But it’s been absent since it called him a rival, maybe, and promptly fucked off. 

He’s a bit surprised at the strength of his curiosity. That phantom voice left in its wake a foreign and not entirely comfortable sensation of _wanting_ , wanting a confidant in his corner, someone who he can understand and understands him in turn. He’s never had this before, so he’s not entirely sure where this idea came from. And it’s insane to think that some disembodied voice in the back of his head would be the first one to crack the case. Must be the drugs again, exposing latent weakness and tampering with his self control.

Well, no matter. Goro is accustomed to spinning tales to support his agenda and this is no exception. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, sinking back into his consciousness to imagine Ren’s debut as the hero of the cognitive world.

\---

#### April, 20XX

From the start, the students of Shujin Academy knew that Ren Amamiya was a force to be reckoned with. Some feared his strong, stolid nature, others were enthralled by his intelligence and charm, but none dared approach him. The general consensus was that Amamiya was special, and most understood that they were not worthy of his time or attention.

As always, there is an exception to the rule. And in this case, that exception was Ryuji Sakamoto, whose speaking volume was outpaced only by that of his hair. Sakamoto strolled up to Ren as if he were anyone else, hiked his gym bag further up his shoulder, bumping Ren’s in the process, grinned crookedly and began speaking to Ren as if he knew him, had known him for years. 

“Maaaaan I’m sleepy. Mondays really suuuuck, amirite?” Ryuji groaned, pulling his hand down his face, stretching the lids of his eyes to reveal the lower halves of his sockets.

Ren took in the full spectacle, Ryuji’s bleached hair and noncompliant uniform. “Do you go to Shujin?”

“Huh? Duh, you blind or somethin’?” Ryuji turned to face Ren, let his head fall to the side. His mouth hung open dumbly.

“No, I’m Ren,” Ren said with a smirk.

“Oh right! You’re the new kid aren’t you. Buncha crazy rumors going around, but… I dunno, you seem kinda normal,” Ryuji said, giving him a once-over. “I’m Ryuji.”

Ren never did have the heart to turn down a stray. He dutifully led Sakamoto to the school entrance, accompanied him to the roof during lunch time, and joined him for exercise after classes ended each day. Soon, he’d learned his new friend’s troubled past. How he had attempted to stand up to an egomaniac former Olympian employed by their school and come out of the experience with a delinquent status and a bum leg. 

They sat shoulder to shoulder on the steps behind the practice building, dripping with sweat after a satisfying session.

“I was just try’na do what’s right, y’know? Then all of a sudden he’s sayin’ this shit about my mom and I saw red. It was like he knew what was comin’, he took half a punch to the chest and then stomped on my leg.”

Ryuji took a long swig of his cola. Ren stared at him with deep, open sympathy.

“Then of course everyone hadda take his side. I got suspended, my friends hated me for stirrin’ up shit, and my mom said she wasn’t mad but I saw how she looked all ashamed. And ‘course I couldn’t run anymore so I had to quit track, lost my scholarship so she had to pick up extra shifts. All ‘cause I couldn’t just ignore that dick.”

Of course this tale would resonate with our dear hero. And he had just the power with which to confront the villainous party. After-school training sessions became after-school palace infiltrations under Ren’s steady leadership. Ryuji awakened his own steely resolve in the form of a fifteenth-century pirate. The parallel between the well-known associations with pirates and peg-legs was not lost on Ren, but he opted not to mention it to Ryuji.

\---

He picked up another teammate, and then another before the heist was complete. A tuxedo cat with striking blue eyes was simply waiting for him outside of Leblanc one afternoon. Ren procured treats from his pocket as he always did for the neighborhood cats and thought nothing more of it until the next morning, when he heard a clear, boyish voice comment, “You know, your hair _is_ pretty frizzy but I don’t think it’s so bad.” 

The cat came pre-installed with a persona of its own, along with valuable information about the cognitive world without which they might have followed a much darker path.

Ann Takamaki approached him after her closest friend’s tragic suicide attempt, something ineffable having drawn her to him and compelled her to spill her guts. She explained that Kamoshida had attempted to blackmail her into having relations with him, dangling her friend’s volleyball career over her head as collateral. And after Ann refused, he had taken what he desired from Shiho instead.

She cried on his shoulder, gratefully accepted his look full of concern and gentle stroking of her hair as she told Ren what that terrible man had done. How powerless she had felt, to stop him and to help her friend. And Ren, sensing the righteous thread of anger that ran through her as well, invited her to join their team of misfits and take some of that power back. To wield the very weakness that had left her vulnerable and, through rebellion, transform it into something beautiful and deadly.

Any doubt about whether Kamoshida must be stopped had vanished. Their hearts burned with a sense of _justice_ and _duty_. They must change his heart and force a confession from his lips.

Thanks to the fortunate accident of encountering Morgana, the talking tuxedo cat, the four of them possessed the method to do just that. 

\---

This single act of vigilantism set into motion the rest of the Phantom Thieves’ escapades. Once they were on a course of pursuing their justice, they found it nearly impossible to stop. Scratching at the surface of corruption in society, one only finds more and more. And when given the opportunity to be a hero, the righteous course of action is to rise to the challenge.

Kamoshida’s transgressions came blubbering to the surface. It was pathetic, really. That the simple act of forcing the man to confront his own actions reduced him to a puddle of apologies and suicide plans. 

Of course, this only cemented in the Thieves’ minds that they were following a righteous path. If his will was so flimsy in the first place, certainly the correct course of action was to remove him as a threat and make an example of him in the process. 

Individuals are capable of heinous acts, surely, but the true tragedy is the inability to face one’s history head-on; the unwillingness to embrace the path available and take pride in one’s ability to do what must be done to win.

\---

Sae seems satisfied with the explanation. It draws from the very records she possesses, of course, and therefore aligns with the information available to the SIU. Still, Goro knows that there are large swaths missing. He reaches and reaches back into his consciousness, endlessly searching for the thread that will lead him back to that mysterious voice. The tactician in him, which seeks information to allow his escape, joins forces with that confounding, irresistible impulse drawing him to the connection to fuel his efforts. But the more he reaches, the farther it seems. As always, chasing a phantom requires tact and finesse and patience. 

Patience is a learned skill for Goro. In his childhood it was forged through long hours at the bathhouse, tracing the lines of his favorite Featherman stories in his mind to pass the time. In adolescence, it was more of an endurance game - if one home became unbearable, he simply had to wait a matter of weeks or months until he was inevitably shuffled to the next one. And now, in adulthood, it is persistence that he must employ. Persist in his commitment, and eventually his piece of shit father will crumble to the ground and Goro will reap the satisfaction.  


* * *

  


### September, 20XX

Ann was thirteen years old the first time she noticed a man noticing her. She was in a Tokyo supermarket at the time, thumbing through the store’s selection of gummy candies while she waited for her mom to finish shopping, and when she looked up to consider whether she wanted peach rings or rainbow fish, a tall, unassuming man with thick glasses and a bald spot and a wedding ring was staring at her. She made eye contact, surprised, and he smiled. She smiled back. 

That morning, she’d paired a navy tank top top with ripped jean shorts and a flannel tied around her waist, copying a magazine spread she’d seen that month. Her mom had let her wear a bit of blush and mascara. She’d sat in the genkan and tugged on her new ankle boots - she was forced to settle for two-inch heels because after begging and begging for three-and-a-half-inch ones her parents had finally conceded and bought her these.

The attention felt good; it made her feel mature and attractive. She left the store that day with an extra spring in her step, bolstered by the confidence she gained from the flattery.

\---

She’s thought a lot in the last few months about that innocuous moment and her reaction to it. She didn’t know any better at the time, but now, after all of the Kamoshida shit and Haru’s _gross_ fiance, it feels like the seed of something more sinister. She’ll never know whether that man from the supermarket stuck to ogling teenage girls from afar or if he took it a step further. She wishes she had his name so she could check in Mementos.

She wonders how many girls have unknowingly offered themselves for consumption, and how many find themselves in too deep before they realize they’re being eaten alive, no longer sure where their humanity ends and commodity begins.

Ann notices the way Haru endures, how she’s slow to retaliate and quick to apologize. It’s good that she has her garden; Shiho’s only outlet had been so tied up in her abuser that she was left with no sources of oxygen. But seeing Haru putter around on the rooftop, smiling as she carefully detangles roots and singing softly to fledgeling tomatoes, gives Ann hope that the flame of her hasn’t been snuffed out yet.

Doesn’t stop her from worrying, though.

One day, when the team is taking a break from infiltration and it’s just the two of them on the roof, she finds the courage to reach out. 

She looks up from her magazine, turns her head, pauses for a second. “Hey, Haru?”

“Yes?” Haru turns away from the lettuce she’s transplanting to face her.

Ann wrings her hands together then lets them come to rest in her lap. “I know we haven’t known each other all that long but… I wanted to let you know we’re here for you, okay?”

Haru stares back at her, shrewd. Ann gets the idea Haru knows exactly what she’s saying, but doesn’t want to overstep. So Ann keeps going.

“And like, we’re totally gonna change your father’s heart so there’s no way you’ll have to marry that creep! But it’s okay if it’s still hard in the meantime. And I’m around if you ever wanna talk about it.” 

“Thank you, Ann-chan,” Haru says with a small bow of her head. “I appreciate it, truly, but I’m okay. Although, perhaps you could assist me in trimming these sugar snap peas? They’re a bit overgrown, I’m afraid, and have run out of trellis to climb.”

“Sure thing!” She hops up from her chair and lays the magazine face-down on the floor.

Ann picks up a pair of garden shears and gets to work, pausing occasionally to snap a pea off the vine for herself. They’re earthy and bitter, but balanced by an undercurrent of sweetness. It’s both parts, Ann thinks, the sweet and the bitter together, that make them so delicious.

“You know,” Haru says, without looking up from her lettuce, “back when Okumura foods was just a small, local business, I used to garden with my grandfather. He and I would harvest from the garden and cook together, and when my father would come home from work, he would thank us so profusely and let me tell him exactly how we had prepared the meal even though he knew the recipes by heart himself. It’s difficult to see them as the same person, the father from back then compared to what he’s become.”

Ann’s shears continue to snip the ends of the peas. She can’t find the words to respond, but hopes her expression conveys the depth of her empathy.

“I believe it was that denial which prevented me from acknowledging how truly angry with him I am for the situation with Sugimura.”

Ann pictures his smug, entitled face illuminated by the light of the alley and snips a little harder.

“I had expected him to protect me, as a father should. And it was far too late when I realized that wasn’t his priority or intent at all.” 

Haru pauses for a minute, before starting on the next bed.

“Sometimes I wonder if this gardening hobby of mine is just a misguided attempt to cling to my past naivety. I hadn’t noticed my father’s corruption over the years, only that he became busy and distant. There is a small part of my mind that wonders whether I’m still naive in thinking that it’s possible for him to return to the person he was before. And an even smaller part that feels that I have no right to tell him he should.” 

The words still haven’t surfaced. Ann tries to cobble together a way to communicate the spark of indignation she feels at Haru suggesting that it had been _her_ responsibility to steer her father away from corruption or that she’s in the wrong for making him stop treating people like disposable resources, herself included. She can’t wrap her mind around how someone could think it’s okay to use their kid like that or how unfair it is to expect someone to defend themself against their own parent.

“But I think back on those times and we all seemed… happy. Content with each other, no need for a lavish lifestyle. And I feel at peace when I’m here, and it reminds me of that time. When my anger wavers, that is what compels me to continue with the mission.”

Ann’s eyes widen like saucers. “Haru, that’s…” _powerful, kind, raw, honest_ , “...badass.”

Haru giggles and runs a dirt-crusted hand through the puff of her hair. “Thank you! It makes me happy to hear you say so! If I may, I think you’re quite a badass as well. You follow your heart at every opportunity while always keeping others in mind. It inspires me to strive for those qualities myself.”

“Jeez, make a girl blush.” Ann laughs and pops another pea into her mouth, warmth blooming in her chest from such a kind compliment. It makes her feel like all of the effort to strengthen herself is worth it, if it reflects in her friends.

It’s these types of moments that Ann fights for. She was born beautiful, sure, and she’s learned over time to shape the sharp edges of that beauty into a weapon rather than a soft spot in her armor. But she was also made to be a bolster for her friends. To stay in touch with that little voice that notices, that calls out to her when people she loves struggle and thrive alike. To use her own sense of self as a torch to kindle their flames and glow in their dark times and not expect anything in return.

Ann’s charm isn’t just a lure for creeps, after all. It’s also a beacon of light for someone adrift, and she’ll do everything she can to find them in the fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shows up to the potluck with a casserole dish full of AnnHaru friendship <3.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed and kudos'd or commented so far!! Find me frequently procrastinating on [twitter](https://twitter.com/IchijikuMonster)!


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